Soft Spot
by Juliet'sEmoPhase
Summary: Draco loves every single bit of Harry, even the bits he doesn't like himself. Post Hogwarts, non-epilogue compliant. Smut. Body image issues.


Author's Note 15-10-15: My friend Janel (aka goldentruth813) and I got into a discussion the other day about how she was writing a story and she wasn't sure how it would be received, about body image and the changes we experience as we grow. I said I was thinking of penning something similar, and urged her to go ahead and publish her fic.

"In It For The Long Run" can be found on AO3, and is utterly wonderful. Quite frankly, I can't even hope to compare with it. So first off, everyone should go read that.

I still wanted to go ahead with my little idea though, but it didn't seem right to post it for a birthday or anything, as it had become something collectively personal for us and many others, this idea of perfection in imperfection. So I just decided to write this for no reason other than I wanted to put my fingers to the keys.

At times, I don't think I'm worth very much, and a lot of that is down to my weight. I know I'm not the only one out there. If that's the case, I hope you find someone who tells you how perfect you are, all the time, no matter how you think you look.

So this is for the lovely Janel, but it's also for the person who tells me I'm beautiful, even if I've just woken up or am not wearing any makeup or think I'm fat. Actually, especially at those times. Because that's true love xxx

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Soft Spot

Draco loves finding Harry's squishy parts. Admittedly, there aren't a lot of them, but that's the whole point as far as he's concerned.

It started with his earlobes. Draco, being the taller of the two, began creeping up behind Harry whilst he was otherwise occupied – doing the washing up was his favourite, because it meant his hands were wet and he couldn't fight back. Draco would wrap his hands around Harry's waist and kiss his way up his neck, until he could claim that little nub of flesh to nibble and suck, loving how it made Harry lean back into him, moaning and trembling with a smitten grin on his face.

Then he'd found a liking for Harry's finger tips, the tender pads that he could play with when they were laying side by side on the sofa, rubbing them against his own, holding them carefully to his lips to kiss and lick. When Harry was cooking, he used to get Draco to taste sauces by using the end of his wooden spoon – the same when sharing his food when they were out. He used to offer it to Draco on a fork. Now, he uses his finger, and watches as Draco laps it off, eyes fluttering closed in delight.

When they kiss, Draco likes to nuzzle into Harry's cheeks, above the stubble he almost always has. He likes to trace his nose just under the ridge of bone, feeling the supple hollow of flesh as he kisses every inch of his lover's face.

Harry likes all of these things.

But Harry does not like Draco's favourite part of him, and that just will not do.

When they lie in bed, spooned together with Draco draped around Harry's pliant form, he likes to rub Harry's belly. It's only then that it's soft, that little pouch that sits on top of all the hard muscle and strong bones. Harry complains that no matter what he does, he can't seem to rid himself of that fleshy pot, and he hates the way it moves when he rests on his side.

It took Draco a few months to discover it, probably because Harry always tried to shift away when his roaming hands found it. But once he realised how lovely it felt when he held it in his hand, he craved it, that spot of skin that seemed to fit just right under Draco's palm.

Harry would bat him away openly once he caught on that Draco was actually seeking that part of him out when they laid together, but Draco would distract him with kisses and murmurs of sweet nothings until he was allowed his way again.

Now Harry lets him rest his hand there, clinging lightly to the soft spot he loves so much. But he doesn't like it, Draco knows. And that upsets him.

"Why is this part bad?" he asks one lazy morning when they have nowhere to be but in each other's arms. He rubs his fingers lightly in circles, feeling the way Harry shudders at his touch. He may not think he likes his stomach, but he can't deny the way Draco can make his body react just by gliding his fingers across his skin.

Harry doesn't answer right away, but laces his fingers in with Draco's, allowing him to guide his hand and caress his body own as well. "It never used to be there," he says after a time.

"You never used to eat properly," Draco argues, though his words lack any kind of malice. They were both skinny at school, underfed anxious boys. But with love comes care and comfort, something they give each other in equal measures. Draco knows Harry likes to feed him just as he does Harry. They like tea and biscuits, they like cheese and crackers with red wine, they like Sunday roasts with all the trimmings. They like to see each other full and happy, not wanting the way they have before.

Draco knows he's lost his sharpness, and he's glad. Because his sharpness stopped him being loved, stopped him loving.

"Why do you like it?" Harry asks, and Draco can feel the wetness on his arm where Harry's head lays. He doesn't comment on that.

"I like that you've changed with me," he says gently into his hair, letting his eyes fall closed, focusing on only the feeling of their entwined bodies. "I like knowing there's a part of you that only I can touch. I like knowing that you have a small bit of you that's vulnerable, and that you trust me not to hurt you."

"I know you won't hurt me," Harry mumbles, gripping tighter onto the hand cradling his own. "But I don't like being vulnerable."

"I know," Draco assures him. "But you're safe here, you always will be. And I think this is my way of showing it."

Harry seems tired, deflated, but he nods against Draco, showing that maybe, one day he might understand.

Draco has never trusted his body with anyone else, and that's very important to him. He knows he wasn't Harry's first, but somehow, that doesn't matter. Harry was his. No one else has seen him the way Harry has, naked in the truest sense of the word, and he treasures that. "I love you," he says tenderly, ghosting his fingertips over Harry's belly once more.

"I love you too," he tells him back without hesitation, twisting his head to face Draco, green eyes fresh and wide. "Every inch of you."

Draco leans down to kiss him slowly, no tongue, just a careful meeting of lips over and over. "So you get it?" he asks with a smile.

Harry nods, and places his hand on top of Draco's, pressing it into his flesh. "It still feels wrong to me," he says. "But…I love that you love it."

He buries his head into the crock of Draco's neck, inhaling deeply and squirming so more of the front his body is angled towards Draco. He begins to kiss and suck his collar bone, or where his collar bone used to stick out. Now it's not so prominent.

"Do you like that bit?" Draco asks warmly down to him. Harry nods, not stopping. "Me too."

He allows himself to be marked, feeling Harry rolling his body into Draco's as the welt becomes tender. Draco shivers in pleasure. He will always be Harry's, but sometimes it's nice to have something to remind him of that.

When he's done, he moves up Draco's neck to kiss him once more, but this time with fervour. His tongue pushes in to find Draco's, hungry and wanting, and Draco is keen to respond.

His other hand cradles the back of Harry's head, but the one that has been worshiping Harry's belly is being pushed downwards by Harry, an unspoken request for more, for everything.

Draco moans into Harry's mouth as he finds him eager for his touch, but he doesn't begin to fondle him just yet. Instead, he runs his fingers through the curled hairs that house the softest part of him all, the part that changes and grows at Draco's whim. Their kisses deepen as Draco strokes through the hair, making his way towards his hardening length. "I like this bit too," he murmurs, running his fingers up and down the hot, tight skin.

Harry nods into him. "Yes," he breaths, inching himself further into Draco's palm.

Draco begins to kiss down his neck as he wraps his fingers tighter around Harry's cock, pulsing slowly as he disappears under the duvet. Harry lies beneath him, docile as he cards his own fingers through Draco's hair as he bobs up and down, first finding his nipples to suck and nibble on. "Yes baby," he mumbles, allowing Draco to play with his body however he wants, which is exactly what Draco was after.

He runs his free hand along the side of Harry's torso, kissing down his chest and dipping his tongue into his belly button, making Harry chuckle and moan again. Draco keeps his hand secure around Harry's cock still, now starting to weep slippery pre-cum. But his attention is mostly on his kisses as they travel down Harry's tummy, to the roundest part and the soft trail of hair that is beckoning him lower still. But Draco isn't happy until he touches his lips to every inch of his favourite spot, licking his tongue and sucking until there are a few light marks.

That part's his. If Harry doesn't want it, he'll claim it.

Harry's hands continue to stroke Draco's hair, not urgent, but ardent. Draco peeks up through the small gap between the duvet and Harry's body, seeing the way his eyes are squeezed shut, how he bites his lower lip in pleasure.

Draco is filled with love.

He continues on his journey, parting his lips to gently take the tip of Harry's throbbing length into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the slit and sucking the head as his hand continues to clutch and rub the rest. Harry doesn't talk much during sex, he just rewards Draco with little yeses and pleas not to stop. Draco hums as he works, utterly content to bring Harry to the brink, to know how much ecstasy he's causing him.

But Harry stops him suddenly, urging his head up with a breathy "No, no, no." Confused, Draco allows himself to be brought up and out of the duvet once more, and lets Harry manoeuvre his body they way he wishes. "Together," he says simply as the kisses begin once more in earnest. He crooks his leg around Draco's, slotting the two of them against each other as if they were meant to only be one whole, and gradually they begin to undulate.

Draco gasps, overwhelmed as Harry presses every possible part of himself against Draco, their bodies slick and their breaths hot and needy. He gazes down into Harry's eyes as he cradles him, their lips just a fraction apart. "I love you," he whispers reverently. "You're perfect."

"So are you," Harry utters, before closing his eyes and gnashing his teeth together as his climax grows. "Come with me. Please."

Draco nods, knowing he's not far off any way. Harry grinds his cock up against Draco's, rutting like a desperate teenager, his fingers digging into Draco's back as he pushes more and more.

"I-" Draco stutters. "I-"

"Yes," Harry cries, giving him permission, and suddenly they are arching into one another, sobbing as the climaxes tear through their bodies and leave them quivering.

"Are you okay?" Draco asks after a time, refusing to release his grip on Harry just yet, not even to clean themselves up.

Harry nods his head against Draco's pulling him in even closer, tightening their embrace with a fierce possession. "Perfect," he affirms back. "Always perfect with you."

End


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